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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548785">A Goodbye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christie_Cavedish/pseuds/Christie_Cavedish'>Christie_Cavedish</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus'>foreignobjecticus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blake's 7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>4x01 Rescue, Gen, Grief/Mourning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:53:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christie_Cavedish/pseuds/Christie_Cavedish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for Whumptober 2020 Day 19: grief/mourning loved one/survivor's guilt. Also a missing-scene for the night after the base is destroyed in 4x01 Rescue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An experiment in writing Vila's voice - he's a tough one. Written with Christie_Cavedish.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a gap between us; a hole, a little gnawing void that Cally left. Like her soul was still up there somewhere in space, with the Liberator, with our cabins and flight deck, crew room and galley; all the treasure of a thousand plundered worlds. And here we sat; Terminal, on the hard, icy ground, slurry seeping into our clothes. The fire did no good at all, and when I tossed green sticks into it I imagined I was kicking dirt into its heart and stamping it out for all the warmth it gave. Eating up precious kindling, while all around us an awful wind blew and fanned the flames away. Even standing over the top of it I was freezing.</p><p>Avon tossed his worthless probe into Orac <em>again </em>and swore quietly, making me tense at the sudden noise. I almost told him to shut up. The words were on the tip of my tongue – we were cranky, tired – /<em>run down and in need of a proper rest/ </em>– but bickering would be worse than not talking at all, so I bit my tongue and stayed silent.</p><p>“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Avon’s voice floated over to me from across our little huddle.</p><p>Beside me, Dayna shifted, trying to tug my hip closer to her back. I shuffled over for her, and in the fire light I could see her smile briefly and cuddle Tarrant closer. Her leg kicked out towards the fire and I grabbed it, pulling it back before she burnt herself. Tarrant’s arms closed around her waist and I saw his eyes flick between Avon and me. Well, at least someone was resting warm. Tarrant’s eyes looked dull; he probably needed the sleep more, but without medical training, none of us could be sure if he had a concussion, and Avon seemed to remember something about sleeping being a bad idea, so instead he was lying there doing his best imitation of a hot water bottle for little Dayna. When she was sleeping, I almost forgot what she was like awake.</p><p>Looking up, I turned towards where I thought Avon was in the darkness and shook my head.</p><p>“It’ll be morning soon,” I shrugged, and the movement sent a shiver of cold down my spine. At least I <em>hoped </em>it’d be morning soon. For all we knew, this planet’s night could go on for weeks. There was no sunlight on the horizon and when the wind picked up suddenly again, I could have sworn it had dropped another few degrees. They always used to say that the darkest – and coldest – hour was always before the dawn. Well<em>, if it gets any colder</em>, I thought as I bit my cheeks to stop my teeth chattering, <em>we won’t live to find out. </em></p><p> </p><p>We sat in silence again for another hour or so before the fire started getting too low. Afraid it was going to burn out, I uncurled from my foetal position and started patting the ground around me with my hands, but there were no more sticks nearby. I sighed. I’d have to leave my spot; Avon probably wouldn’t care enough to get up and save us all from freezing.</p><p>Bracing myself, I rocked forward and crawled up onto my stiff knees, feeling the wet ground seeping through to my skin immediately. <em>Great</em>. I tried to be quiet as I stepped away from the fire – I wasn’t sure if Tarrant had fallen asleep and Avon was practically invisible, so when a light suddenly shone behind me I jumped up in surprise and caught myself in the bushes I’d gone foraging in.</p><p>“Who’s there! <em>Ah-!”</em></p><p>“Be quiet,” Avon hissed, stooping to pull me free of the sharp branches. “You’ll wake them up.”</p><p>“Then don’t sneak up on me,” I whispered back and dusted myself off. “I could have been doing anything in this bush.”</p><p>The light from Avon’s little pen torch was white and strong, and the glow that leaked from the beam bounced between our faces. I could see him grimace, though I think he meant it as a smile.</p><p>“Unlikely,” he explained in a hushed voice, watching me intently. “We need more firewood.”</p><p>“I know,” I muttered back and looked down to my chest, flicking a strange beetle off my tunic. “<em>Eugh!</em> Bloody bugs…”</p><p>“This area is no good; we’ve already taken all the dry wood,” Avon explained, ignoring me entirely. “I let Tarrant know I was leaving. We’ll have to search further from the fire.”</p><p>“Right…” I turned around and watched Avon stomp past me, his footing unsure on the uneven, icy ground. He aimed his little light at the ground, steaming ahead like he knew where he was going, and I followed, stepping in his footprints where I knew I wouldn’t fall, grateful for the help; I hadn’t expected him to bother, not with the mood he’d been in, but I guess survival meant more to him than pettiness. I smirked at the thought; that would be a first.</p><p> </p><p>A little way out, just beyond where we could see the campfire, Avon stopped and inspected some of the nearby shrubs, snapping a twig off and scrutinising it like it had insulted his ability to reprogram a faulty datapad.</p><p>“The plants here are good enough; what we can’t get to ignite, we can dry by the fire.”</p><p>For an Alpha, he knew his stuff. I wondered where he’d learnt it, considering the skinny, sheltered little man Avon had been when he’d first come aboard Liberator. But then I realised he’d probably learnt it from the same person as me, and I felt a pang of regret at having even thought about it. I’d been purposefully trying to keep my mind off it, not think about what I’d seen, what Avon must have seen after-</p><p>I shook my head and felt out longer tufts of grass by the light of Avon’s torch, gathering handfuls while Avon snapped twigs and thicker branches with his boot. As we worked, I could hear the distant growling and nattering of creatures I couldn’t name – more than just the primitive grunts of the Links – some things more sinister, that sounded hungrier, like they had bigger teeth.</p><p>Avon stomped on a thick branch and I nearly jumped out of my skin.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” he growled, and I decided there and then that an angry Avon was probably scarier than whatever I’d heard. He turned the light on me, and for the first time I noticed the Federation gun slung over his shoulder.</p><p>“You didn’t leave Tarrant the gun?” I asked, trying to save face by distracting him from my little outburst, but I could still feel my heart beating erratically. The look he gave me told me he wasn’t impressed.</p><p>“They have the fire. It should keep away most things.”</p><p>“What if it doesn’t?”</p><p>Avon smirked, and his teeth glittering in the dark were <em>absolutely</em> more terrifying than anything I could have imagined would be waiting for us out there.</p><p>“I told him to scream.”</p><p> </p><p>Avon’s joke did little to quell my nerves, and by the time our arms were almost full, numbing with cold, I had worked myself up into a bundle of nervous energy, forcing myself not to jump at every sound I heard out the in darkness around us. I knew I’d started babbling to Avon at some point – he kept telling me to shut up – but that was just what I did when I was scared!</p><p>“Vila, shut <em>up!</em>”</p><p>“I can’t; I’m nervous!” I babbled, fumbling with my stupid twigs while I stumbled over the ground trying to get closer to Avon – I’d strayed too far away and suddenly the ten or so feet between us felt like a hundred miles. “I’m just worried-”</p><p>“Don’t be-” he ground out.</p><p>“I can’t help it-”</p><p>“Yes, you can-” I could tell he was losing his patience, but I couldn’t stop. I had to know.</p><p>“Are we ever going to get out of here?” I asked him, and though I knew I sounded desperate, I couldn’t keep my voice steady any longer. I was cold, I was tired, I was hungry. There was only one canteen between us, and what little water was left had been rationed to Tarrant while the rest of us were left to eat snow. But by the way I was shivering, and the colour the stuff had been around us before the light had died, I think it’d be safer to go thirsty.</p><p>“I don’t plan on dying here-”</p><p>“Neither did Cally!”</p><p>That had done it. Avon looked up at me, and the gaze he fixed me with was cutting, colder than the ice beneath our boots or the horrible wind that was slicing through my tunic. But then, strangely, he sighed, and his face softened, all his anger seeming to fizzle out and be replaced by fatigue – stronger than I’d ever seen on his face before. It occurred to me, briefly, that neither of us had slept in 24 hours, probably more in Avon’s case, <em>definitely more, </em>and combined with the stress of everything that had happened…</p><p>“…You don’t know, do you?” I said softly and watched as Avon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes gazed out over my shoulder, and I saw the faintest glimmer of rose light touch his cheeks. Turning around, I saw it: the dawn.</p><p>Avon had never wanted to be the leader, not of us, not of anyone. And coming here, to Terminal, had been his way of giving up the responsibility. It had <em>looked </em>like a selfish act at first; being so secretive, so aggressive, pulling that gun on Tarrant, forcing us through that cloud of particles that had eaten up Liberator like a biscuit left too long in a cup of tea. It was all a desperate bid, a last chance grasp for freedom, whatever he’d thought that might entail.</p><p>But it had all ended in disaster. Liberator, gone. Cally, gone. Barely a weapon between us and no way off this artificial planet teeming with escaped laboratory experiments. The future hadn’t looked this bleak since we’d- <em>I’d </em>looked out of that holding cell on Cygnus Alpha, peered into the darkness and smelt the choking plumes of sulphurous gases that marked the first glimpse of what was supposed to be <em>my </em>terminal.</p><p>I wondered how Avon felt now; if he realised just how familiar this seemed, how much <em>worse </em>it felt to stand here in the valley of a desolate planet, cold, dark, alone, weighed down by the shadows of the smouldering base to the north and the charred wreckage of the ship to the south. Maybe he was anticipating it already now that everything had slowed down. Now we’d had time to reflect. He probably realised that resentment would bubble up in us sooner or later, boil and hiss until we let vent on him. He’d blame himself but-</p><p>A part of me couldn’t blame Avon. Here we were, Cygnus Alpha, Control, Star One; all rolled in to one. The biggest mistake Avon had ever made, every wrong turn he’d reprimanded Blake for, all together at once, all so much more <em>permanent</em>.</p><p>The red sun began to shine brighter as it crested the horizon, and I squinted as it blinded me. A few paces back, I heard Avon jostle the sticks under his arm and a soft <em>click </em>as he switched off his dying torch. His boots crunched in the frost as he came to my side.</p><p>“It will still be another hour or so before it’s light enough to start travelling. Until then, the temperature will keep dropping. Come on,” his voice rumbled in my ear and I turned to follow him back through the path we’d made in the dirty snow.</p><p> </p><p>Avon disappeared for a while after we got back to the others, leaving me to stoke the fire back to life. At least it gave me a chance to warm my hands, and by the time he’d returned, trudging through the snow in the low light, I’d even managed to bring some colour back to my fingers. They were still freezing, but at least the fingernails had stopped being blue. I slipped my gloves back on as I watched Avon come forwards, a small, wooden crate in his hands.</p><p>“Where’d you get that, and what is it?” I whispered, nodded at the thing as he settled beside me, keeping as quiet as he could. Tarrant had fallen asleep while we’d been out searching for kindling, and I’d checked his pulse. Now he was sleeping, there was little point waking him up. I figured the sleep would probably do him good now anyway. Gods knew I could use some. The shock of escaping the burning base had long since worn off, and every hour I felt like it was getting harder just to think straight. I couldn’t imagine what Avon felt like.</p><p>“It’s a box,” he replied quietly and pulled it across the grass to sit between us. I took his invitation and opened it, peering inside.</p><p>“An empty box,” I replaced the lid and frowned. “What are you doing lugging this thing around? And more to the point, where did you get it?” I snapped a little, letting my frustration into my voice. “I thought maybe you’d brought us some food or something, or-”</p><p>The look on Avon’s face stopped me mid-sentence. It was something similar to the look he’d given me a few hours before, but in the morning light it seemed so much clearer. It was a look I’d only seen a few times before, a look I think he’d never dared show anyone else. It was open, all his walls torn away, and for the briefest of moments he was completely, utterly vulnerable. I couldn’t look away, and even though I felt I wanted to, to reject his trust now…</p><p>“I found it in one of the weather station sheds near the remains of the main base. There wasn’t much else inside.”</p><p>“Why did you bother?”</p><p>Avon paused, eyes drifting down over the box, his knees, the fire, the others curled up sleeping tight in each other’s arms; over everything we had left.</p><p>“She deserves one last goodbye.”</p><p>I felt my heart stop. All at once, my skin crawled with goosebumps, and I sniffed hard not because of the frigid air.</p><p> </p><p>Avon said we’d go up to the ridge to the south once the others had woken, give them time to warm themselves up by the fire, get ready for the trek ahead. He didn’t know how far we’d have to travel to find shelter. Of course he didn’t; why should he? We didn’t speak much after that, preferring instead to warm ourselves and stretch the cold from our stiff muscles. As I watched the sun cresting the hills, I heard birdsong in the distance. After such a clear, bitter night, it was looking to be a fine day ahead of us, if the clouds didn’t roll back in again. The sun scattered light through the few thin clouds on the horizon, blazing orange and yellow into the merest hint of blue. It was beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>It had gotten overcast again by the time Dayna and Tarrant had woken, and what little hope of warming up with the sun had been dashed completely. Explaining ourselves, Avon and I left for the first south ridge. It was only a short walk away – close enough that we could cover the others and the camp with the one Federation gun between us, in a pinch. We left Orac by the fire and I carried the wooden crate while Avon covered us, picking out a clear path through the vegetation up to the top of the ridge.</p><p>At the top, Avon walked around the edge of a little clearing, searching in all directions first for Links and then sweeping around again with his range glasses. The little motor on the glasses <em>whirred </em>as it zoomed in and out, Avon scouring the landscape, slower and more methodical as he ran out of places to look. While he searched, I flattened out a bit of bare ground and stacked the branches I’d brought up in the crate, making a little platform and stuffing the underside with kindling and grass dried from the fire below. When it was done, I huddled over the stack, shielding it from the gentle breeze and pressed the muzzle of the gun into the grass. <em>Crack</em>. It caught first try, thankfully. Federation guns were notoriously skint on ammunition, and we needed to save what we had. By the time I’d gotten the fire going strong enough to withstand the wind, Avon was back, scowling.</p><p>“Any luck?” I asked, looking up at him and sticking out my hand, hoping for a little help up. Avon regarded my hand for less than a second, still squinting, looking out over the hills and into the wind. He pulled me up.</p><p>“Nothing. There’s a few tracks and clearings out to the southwest, but they could have been made by the Links.”</p><p>I nodded, taking a few paces back from the fire and looking out in the direction he’d indicated, but I couldn’t see much. It didn’t matter to me anyway – it’s not like I was going to go walking in the opposite direction just for the hell of it. I trusted Avon, and he knew that. Whatever was in those hills, I’d still follow him.</p><p>When I turned back, he was rounding on the crate, looking down at it with a drawn face. I held back my comment about Avon ascribing agency to a box.</p><p>"An empty box... doesn't really do her justice, does it?" I looked down too at the rough wood, gone dark and brittle with age. I felt a stinging in my eyes, and my nose started to burn when I tried to hold the tears back. It would be easier to just let them fall, but I couldn't. Not yet. Beside me, Avon stooped and eased himself down to one knee. He moved stiffly, without any grace at all, like his limbs were beginning to be a burden the rest of them couldn’t bear.</p><p>"She of all people would recognise it for what it is," Avon spoke towards the box. He leaned forward, picking up the rough-hewn lid and replacing it carefully. "On the surface, an empty gesture, perhaps..."</p><p>"But not to those who matter," I finished for him when he’d stopped speaking and Avon nodded.</p><p>I let out a deep sigh, tasting the cold, unfamiliar surface air sharp in my lungs. It helped, kept my voice steady, let me think a bit more clearly before the realisation of just what had happened kicked in.</p><p>"You know what she said after her sister died?" I asked, fixing my eyes on the box, and I imagined it were Cally in there and not just dust, dirt and bits of bark from the sticks I’d brought up in it. I wanted to put something in it, something to symbolise her, something that <em>mattered</em>, but I had nothing. I felt my fists clenching. <em>We had nothing</em>. There wasn’t even a lonely flower on this whole <em>stinking </em>hilltop.</p><p>Avon looked up at me, but he didn’t speak. I sniffed, but I knew the tears were starting on me. Couldn’t be helped now. I kept my eyes up, away from Avon, staring into the fire that was growing on its own now. Soon it would be big enough, but I could probably put some more sticks on it, give it a poke, make sure it was nice and hot-</p><p>“What did she say, Vila?”</p><p>Avon’s voice was so soft, I almost didn’t recognise him. But it cut through my thoughts and I pulled my glove off to wipe at eyes pathetically. I was glad he wasn’t mocking me, but when I looked down at him I could see he wanted to cry too. He just… I just knew he wouldn’t. Not now. Not until he’d played the leader, saved us all, like he was <em>supposed </em>to. I swallowed against the tight lump in my throat and found my voice.</p><p>“That she still lived on because Cally remembered her, remembered all the good times they'd had together, all the happy memories..." I shivered as the wind picked up, sending a little flurry of sparks up into the sky, the fire quietly <em>wooshing</em>. "It's not just Cally we'll have to remember, you know. It's Zelda too, and the moondisc, the Auronar-"</p><p>"Can you really take that all on?" Avon asked, and I snapped by head down to scowl at him but he was serious; I could tell. The wind rustled the low bushes around us, colder again like it were blowing in from an ocean far out sight but still letting us know it was there by the touch of it on our skin. I pulled my glove back on and braced myself against the cold and the ache in my heart.  </p><p>"How long before you forget?" he asked again.</p><p>The wind carried the sound of Dayna and Tarrant slowly trekking up the hill behind us; the last mourners coming to say goodbye.</p><p>"How long before your mind is little more than a mausoleum?"</p><p>I set my face like stone and shook my head.</p><p>"I won't forget them, Avon,” I swore solemnly into the fire. “Or Gan-"</p><p>"Or Jenna, Blake-?"</p><p>"Or my family?"</p><p>This time I looked at him, hoping the determination I felt was coming across in my eyes, in the way that I held Avon’s and stared, unblinking, letting the tears that ran down my cheeks explain what I didn’t want to say with words. "Will you?"</p><p>The cold wind roared now, leaves buffeted from the strange yellow shrubs, beating seeds and sticks around us and turning the funeral pyre to flickering gouts of flame. Avon looked into the fire and shivered.</p><p>"No,” he finally said as the others arrived, and when he looked up at me I held out my hand to pull him to his feet, Cally’s urn in his hand. He clutched it close and looked at me for a long time before turning to the fire and dropping the crate into the flames. When he stepped back, his face was hard again, brows set and eyes cold like steel.</p><p>“I’ll never forget."</p>
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